In unorthodox verses with a poetic tongue,
And my vibrant fingers crossed, I’ll trigger the gun –
A formation of words, so to speak I shall say,
Will combine with saliva, for a delicate play.
Some may call it a mouth, loaded with words,
But I happen to know how to kill two birds –
With one stone, and I know it’s a fragile saying,
So my meaning’s casual, to reduce fraying –
Of my witty appeal, and quick-witted replies,
To your genuine faces, sour with lies.
I’ve come to terms with comments, rather left unsaid,
From people who I feel would be rather off dead.
And have witnessed people scorn a child at play,
Then surreptitiously act in a childish way.
Heard sentimental thoughts to a newly-widowed wife,
But caught the sound of guffawing at her deteriorating life.
So I’ll utter this once, only once and no more:
If hypocrisy’s a disease, is there a cure?